


Winter's Howl In Your Heart

by drowsyfantasy



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsyfantasy/pseuds/drowsyfantasy
Summary: Anduin is killed and raised by Sylvanas, becoming the Banshee King. Despite his undeath, he tries his best to mend the devastation between the two factions. With the reticent Nathanos at his side, can he ever hope to bring peace back to Azeroth?





	1. Chapter 1

_ “Rise, my newest champion.”  _

Everything was dark and cold, and as he struggled back towards consciousness, Anduin felt someone put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away. The last thing he could remember was being captured by Horde forces, despite the best protection. He had hoped for some sort of hostage negotiation when they’d first set out for this meeting, but now…

But now…

He opened his eyes. 

His vision came into focus slowly, and the cold, grim face of Nathanos Blightcaller loomed before him. He was taller, always had been taller, than the young man, but it felt even more so now, that they were inches away. 

_ Wait, ‘champion’?  _

“Nathanos?” Anduin murmured, and his voice sounded strange, like it was wheezing, or coming from far away. 

“Come on, up with you.” he was hauled fully to his feet, standing up straight. It was odd. He felt like he was floating and horizontal at the same time. Still, there was something...wrong with Nathanos’ face. His expression was wrong. Usually it was scornful scowling, especially if he came anywhere near the Alliance’s leaders. But he was peering into his face as though he’d never seen him before. “There you are. He is ready, my Lady.” 

Nathanos turned away, and Anduin staggered a bit before regaining his footing. He turned as well, looking over at Sylvanas. She was sitting on a chair, her legs crossed elegantly at the knee. Her chin was resting on one arm, fingers of the other drumming against the end of the armrest. 

“Lady Sylvanas.” Anduin attempted to be polite, but the sight of her brought a sudden, deep stab of anger in his belly. He took a step towards her and it became hard to breathe; his chest felt like it was full of knives, or a swarm of angry hornets, struggling to get out. It was rage, rage he’d not felt since the first reports of the burning of Teldrassil. “Why have you brought me here?” 

She rose from her chair. She was slow, smarmy, smirking. “I decided to stop waiting and take action. After all, I killed hope for the Night Elves...why not do it for the rest of the Alliance as well, starting with its pitiful Boy King?” 

“I should think that capturing me would just give them even more determination to put an end to your war, but believe what you will.” Anduin replied coldly, still trying to quell the ever-building anger inside of him. He wobbled, and felt Nathanos grip his arm to steady him. Odd thing. 

“Do you think that’s all we did? Oh no, little boy, that’s not nearly enough for me.” her smile became ugly, turning into a scowl. “I intend to make examples of all the leaders. But starting with you was the easiest. After all, your pathetic, bleeding little heart would be my prettiest trophy.” 

“Yet here I stand.” Anduin managed. “You have not made worm’s meat of me yet.” 

“Haven’t I?” she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and strode across the small room to something leaning against the wall. As she ripped the velvet curtain back, Anduin could see that it was a large, ornate oval mirror. Gold leaf trim made a handsome outlined frame on it, and the weight of it made the floor creak as Sylvanas stepped back from it, exposing the dark glass centre with its silver backing. 

He had to step closer, the angle was too tall. 

Trembling, pale fingers reached out to the mirror. They were not his own, yet they were. In the mirror’s reflection to his right was the imposing figure of Nathanos, with that same mysterious not-angry, not-stern expression on his face. Was it...pity? Sympathy? No, surely not, surely he was not capable of…

Anduin looked into his own face, and his heart burst. 

Red eyes glared into his own, the red of unholy undeath, against blue-white skin and drips of burned tears into his cheeks. His hair, bleached pale, framed his unchanged jawline, but he could see it tightening even as his hand drew back without his permission and shot through the heavy, ornate mirror as though it were tissue paper. 

The scream that echoed from his chest was not human amidst the shattering of glass as pieces of the mirror fell to the floor around his trembling fist, and it went on and  _ on,  _ carried by the rage that threatened to blind him to all else. 

Laughter. 

Laughter behind him, cold and cruel and mocking,  _ Sylvanas!  _ He turned, was turning, letting the rage sweep him away, what was left of Anduin inside his head, the patient, hopeful boy who wanted nothing more than to heal his battered and bruised world, with his hand still bleeding, still stabbed through with large shards of glass from the mirror. The rage cooed at him, purring, encouraging, a dark and poisonous mistress. 

The laughter stopped. Anduin, his head spinning, looked down at his arm. It was buried in Sylvanas’ chest, up to his shoulder. She looked at him in surprise, then down at the limb that had impaled her. She looked like she wanted to say something, and Anduin, in shock and horror, yanked his hand back. 

Her body snapped in two, ripped cleanly apart by the retreat of his shaking, glass-filled hand. There was a wet noise as her upper torso collided with the floor. 

Nathanos was shouting something beside him, behind him, but Anduin was already down on his knees. He thought at first he was about to vomit, but something else was happening entirely. Before he knew what he was doing, before Nathanos could stop him, he had grabbed Sylvanas’ upper half by her hair and dragged it towards himself. There was screaming, screeching, wailing, and he wasn’t sure who was making that noise, perhaps it was himself, perhaps it was what was left of the Banshee Queen in his hands, but  _ something  _ was happening, and her body seemed to blur, then change to a black mist. Anduin opened his mouth, and  _ inhaled _ . 

The black cloud that had been his enemy was sucked into his body, filling his lungs, then dispersing throughout him. He felt another moment of blinding rage, and then it dissipated like mist in the first rays of the morning sun. 

He was still kneeling on the floor in shock, horror, and awe, when he felt Nathanos’ hand on his shoulder once more. 


	2. Chapter 2

“It actually doesn’t hurt. I didn’t feel it at the time. I don’t even remember it.” 

Anduin stood in front of a mirror in his chambers at Stormwind Keep. Genn and Velen stood behind and beside him, as he watched their reflections. He was naked to the waist, his pale chest with its black scar piercing him from the middle of his sternum to his navel. Of course his body was littered with small scars, acquired over time, or from the Divine Bell, but this was different. This was a killing blow, and to be honest, he was satisfied with not remembering. 

Nathanos, for his part, sat quietly on a nearby couch and said not a word. Like every other member of the Forsaken, and any member of the Horde who wished it, Anduin had granted him full amnesty in exchange for a peaceful surrender. Of course, many didn’t want to live in Stormwind or even acknowledge their loss, but two days prior, he, Saurfang, Theron, and Bloodhoof had parted on amicable-enough terms.

He had to be a symbol of his own hope, now. He couldn’t let that die with him. 

It had been several long, painful weeks of announcements and negotiations and promises, but the remaining leaders had all agreed to withdraw to their own lands and work on healing Azeroth as a whole. They were still not finished their discussions, had more things to finalize, but for now, they were taking a brief rest to recuperate. 

The ancient Draenei leader gently ran soft violet fingers down the angry-looking wound, completely closed and drained. “We could not protect you. I am so sorry.” 

“You’ve been so busy lately, I could never blame you.” Anduin shook his head. Genn was still bristling on his other side. He and Nathanos had fought and spat and kicked and brawled like dogs for the first few days - even physically attacking each other - but even though he himself had been the one to put an end to Lady Sylvanas, Nathanos didn’t seem to want to leave his side. He’d spoken very little, only the barest of conversation - and he could hardly call it that, either. Where his loyalties lay, Anduin couldn’t say, but there was something inside of him - perhaps even what was left of Sylvanas, if such a thing were still possible - that told him that he would be safe. 

“I still don’t like it. The Undead are running freely around Stormwind like they own the place.” 

“Some of them used to.” Anduin rebuked him quietly. “Many of them were human, once, and if they want to reconnect with their loved ones, I would never do anything but encourage them. Some decided they were too far gone to come back, but a lot want to stay, and I think that’s fine. Not every person raised by Sylvanas wanted the Horde, but we can’t remain heartless to their struggle. Besides, it may encourage others as time goes on.” 

“Couldn’t you have at least waited until negotiations were over? Put more limitations on them. Curfews. Things like that. Prohibit them from gathering in large numbers -” 

“Genn.” Anduin turned to him, hard. The other king was bigger than him, broader, more imposing, but he backed down just as quickly as he’d begun, putting his hands up and retreating a step back. “We have discussed this. This is a show of good faith, as well as what I have always believed. No person is a monster, and no person deserves to be called a monster by those who should believe in them most.” he held Genn’s eyes until the other man looked away in shame and surrender. 

“You are truly a wise king, and brave.” Velen remarked softly. Anduin began to put his shirt back on, pulling it over his head, fixing the collar under his chin. The royal robes had been heavy before, but now it seemed he had the strength of ten men. He didn’t know the full extent of his new powers and he had little inclination to try them out, since what he hoped to bring about was a time of great and lasting peace. Velen and even Genn had come around, though Tyrande was still bitterly furious and wouldn’t even speak to him. Neither she nor Malfurion had shown their faces at the negotiation tables or even been in Stormwind lately. Truth be told, he didn’t know where they were. They would have to be found if he could ever hope to truly negotiate peace without splinter factions breaking off to restart the war. 

Just thinking about it hurt his head. The anger, the howling rage within him that came from being a Banshee, had quieted as of late without a war to fight, but it threatened to rise within him whenever he sat down at the table and Saurfang asked a pressing question, or Gallywix said...well, anything. He wasn’t a pleasant fellow, even though the Goblins had been openly selling to both factions for years. 

Genn started to say something else, and without waiting, Anduin put up a hand. “Not now. Later, perhaps. I need to rest.” He walked away from the two other leaders and towards one of the windows. Outside, the sun was low in the afternoon sky. Not yet sunset, but late enough in the day that weariness was setting in. He didn’t sleep, per se, not like he used to, but he did get tired and drained, usually from holding back the unrelenting anger inside of him. This was the first night he could sleep in his own bed, having come from weeks of tense negotiations in neutral territory. 

Anduin heard the door close behind him, and sighed. He turned away from the window and spotted Nathanos. The man hadn’t moved, but he was now being watched with those intense red eyes that so matched his own. 

“Forgive me. I haven’t had chambers made up for you.” he felt a little guilty. Despite the hostile behaviour towards some of the other members of the Alliance councilmembers, Nathanos had been nothing but calm around the new Banshee King. He couldn’t say that it was unwelcome, especially when others were treating him like he was some sort of delicate monster, waiting to be unleashed, but easily shattered to pieces. “I can put you anywhere you’d like. There’s a nice view of the lake from the north side -” 

“Don’t want my own chambers.” 

“But surely you want to rest-” 

“Don’t  _ need _ my own chambers.” 

“I understand if you’re beyond sleep at this point,” Anduin shook his head, approaching him, “but you’ll need a place to stay.” 

Nathanos looked him in the eye, then leaned back, spread his arms over the back of the deep blue couch, and crossed his legs casually. He did this all without breaking his stare, as if staking his territory and  _ daring  _ Anduin to tell him to move. 

“If you like,” Anduin twisted his lips, trying to play it off lightly, as a joke, “I could have that couch  _ moved  _ to your chambers if you’re that attached to it…” 

Nathanos rose to his feet, pushing off the couch from his waist, and loomed over the shorter, younger man. Despite the swirl of sudden wind inside him at being threatened, the intimidation tactic, Anduin swallowed and stood his ground without lashing out or flinching. 

Nathanos looked as though he wanted to say something, and  _ badly,  _ but didn’t, and the moment passed when Anduin looked away first. Despite his rank, despite his condition, there was something in the other man’s eyes that just…

“Very well. Stay here.” Anduin turned his back on Nathanos and headed away from him, towards the inner chambers that housed his bathroom and bedroom. He wanted a nice, hot shower and then his clean, comfortable bed. Even if he didn’t sleep and dream the way he used to, it would still feel good to sink into that soft mattress. “But don’t blame me if Genn catches you too close for his liking and decides to pick another fight. I can only pull him off of you so many times before I let him try to teach you a lesson,” he chortled. 

“Oh? And what lesson would that be?” the voice came from directly behind him as Anduin was pulling off his shirt again and the young king leapt about a foot in the air from surprise, spinning and desperately trying to regain his footing. Strong arms caught him, pulled him back to his feet, preventing him from smacking his head on the wall by accident. 

Sheepish and shy, Anduin attempted to cover himself once more, but Nathanos put a hand on his arm. “What are you trying to hide for? I’ve seen you.” 

Anduin slowly removed his shirt. As he stood, Nathanos knelt. “Y-you don’t have to do that.” Anduin stammered as the other man began to undo his belt and remove his trousers and underclothes. “You’re not a servant, and I can undress myself…” 

Nathanos gave no response. His touches weren’t rough but they weren’t intimate either, it was as though he was being disrobed by someone inspecting him for healing his wounds. Almost clinical, almost detached, but not quite. As Anduin stepped out of his clothing and went to step into the hot spray of water, he heard the echo of footsteps as Nathanos walked away, glancing back over his shoulder to spot him leaving the room with all of his clothes. 

Nathanos was definitely an odd thing, and he still had a lot to figure out about him, Anduin thought to himself as he closed his eyes and began to wash. 


	3. Chapter 3

The headache that he’d thought had gone away had come back with full force, pounding behind his eyes. Despite the fact that he was dead, apparently he could still very much feel pain, as was evidenced by the agony in his skull. 

It was hard to tell if this or the Banshee rage was worse, but at least the rage didn’t leave him weak-tongued in the face of difficult negotiations. 

Theron and Alleria had been whipping each other up into a frenzy all morning. The matter of access to the Sunwell had been one of heated debate, and while each of them were cordial to Anduin on his own, together, this room made a heated bunch. The young king held his head in his hands on the table as the shouting further down the room continued. He pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed, unsatisfied with the pitiful sensation that wasn’t enough to cause any real relief. 

To be honest, he was surprised when both of the remaining Windrunner sisters had given him their full support. Had they truly cared so little for Sylvanas in the end? Some members of the Forsaken, he’d heard, had had some sort of...peaceful memorial ceremony for her, but neither of the two living sisters had attended. Something stirred in his belly and he wondered if he should have gone, or if that would’ve been too much. In the end, he hadn’t had much time to relax. Three days off, then right back to the negotiations tables. Even with all his preparations, he still felt woefully inadequate. 

Baine seemed to be his only unwavering support from the other side. Saurfang respected him, but Anduin could tell the Orc didn’t really want to be part of this. The new leaders, including Thalyssra, were still unknowns, and though she seemed polite, educated, and ultimately, grateful that Anduin’s forces had helped free her people from the rule under the Legion, she still sided with the Blood Elf leader when he made a point. 

During any other time, he would’ve admired Theron for his dedication to his people. But right now, it just made his headache worse. He scrunched up his face, closing his eyes and trying to block them out. If he could just focus…

“I think we should take a break for a while.” Saurfang was standing up, looking around the room. Half the leaders had broken out into small groups, rather than sitting at the long table. “We’ve made substantial progress today, but it seems we’ve hit some sensitive issues. We should leave it, and come back with clear heads.” 

It was like a soothing balm to Anduin’s head to hear those words. “Thank you.” he stood, nodding and facing the old Orc. “I agree—we should reconvene in the morning, but we’re having too many arguments right now.” 

Alleria and Theron glared at each other coldly. “We’re just going to have these arguments tomorrow, too,” Alleria insisted, not breaking eye contact. 

“Then perhaps I’ll ask Gallywix to procure the best headache cures, because the one you’re giving me right now will be part of the history books,” Anduin snapped, before he realized what he was saying. He covered his mouth as the entire room pivoted and turned to stare at him. He spluttered something for a second, then looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

To his surprise, Theron’s expression completely changed. “Sylvanas did this to you.” His voice was sympathetic, a 180 from his earlier tightly clipped tensions. “I believe that all of us keep forgetting that you were made to pay for this chance at peace with your life, as well as your connection to the Light.” 

Anduin crumpled a bit. It was true—ever since he’d awakened, that link had been severed, yanked away from him cruelly. The Light did not come to him, did not answer his prayer or questions, and though it did not burn him when others used it near him, he could not feel its presence. It had been such an enormous part of his life before, and now, he had never felt more alone. 

Theron’s voice continued, as Anduin studied the wood grain of the table. At least his headache was easing. “This war has gone on too long. It has cost us too much. Let us leave, and come back tomorrow with fresh heads and fresh ideas, or I fear we will just walk ourselves back into the same traps we were in before.” 

There were murmurs of agreeance all throughout the room, and people began to leave. Anduin felt the familiar hand on his shoulder and leaned back. Nathanos was there, silent and calm, and it was a relief to melt, almost fall backward into that broad chest. He was like a giant oak or a mountainside, unwavering support for the tired young Banshee King. Frustration had led to more weariness than he knew he could feel, in this new undead state, and he let his eyes close as a strong arm went around him. He tilted his head back and rested it against Nathanos’ shoulder, and felt that other hand cover his forehead and eyes, mercifully giving him a cool, dark place to reflect. 

Right now, he didn’t care how he might have looked to the others. Strange? It may have been a sign of weakness, but in the moment, it didn’t matter. They had all shown signs of weakness during these negotiations, but weakness was what made everyone in this room equal, and they all knew it. Before their people, they had to be strong, and before their enemies, they had to be strong. But in front of people they wanted to work together with, they had to show their...humanity. 

“Your Majesty. Shall we go?” 

“Give me a moment.” Anduin replied, still content to stand exactly where he was, with Nathanos wrapped around him like a protective mother bear with her cub. His legs were locked under him like pillars, and part of him wasn’t sure he could walk at this point. He’d been sitting for hours on end. If he hadn’t been dead, it would have seriously hurt. As it was now, he just sort of felt numb from the knees down. 

To his surprise, he found himself gathered up. The hand that was on his face slipped down below his knees, and he was hauled up off the floor, carried on Nathanos’ hip like an unruly toddler. “You need to come along,” Nathanos informed him gruffly.

“You don’t have to carry me…” His own voice sounded weak to his ears, and his arms had somehow migrated around Nathanos’ neck for stability. When he didn’t get any response, he lowered his chin and rested his cheek against the other man’s shoulder. 

There was a soft chuckle, the scratch-tickle of beard against Anduin’s ear, and what might have been a soft press of lips, but they were saying something. He could barely hear it, and then everything was silent.


	4. Chapter 4

He knew he was being carried. Nathanos’ arm was under his upper thighs, and he was tucked into his side. Though the taller man wasn’t warm, he was comfortable, cozy somehow, and Anduin found himself sleepily nuzzling into the cloth and leather shoulder.

“You’re lucky we’re in private.” He heard Nathanos chuckle. They were climbing stairs. Probably back at the Keep, since he vaguely remembered going through a portal a few moments ago. “If the Old Dog saw you being anything more than calm and polite to me, it’d set him off again, foaming at the mouth. Have you had him tested for rabies lately?”

Despite himself, Anduin laughed. “Genn’s an old friend. I know the two of you don’t get along, but at this moment, I’m too tired to care.” He hummed for a second, softly to himself, before nuzzling even closer. His face was buried against the side of Nathanos’ neck, just below where his beard and his jawline sat.

The arm around his back went up, cupping the back of his neck. He felt the gloved hand slide into his hair, and the feeling was surprisingly calming. He shivered a little, then relaxed. Eventually they came to a halt.

“We’ve arrived at your chambers.” Nathanos was playing idly with Anduin’s loose hair. He’d let it go lately, not always tying it back in a ponytail. It was so pale that pulling it back out of his face made him look like he was going bald. Shaw had said it had made him look even more like a lion.

Anduin squirmed, petulant, childish. “Carry on,” he ordered, “don’t put me down yet.”

“But my King,” Nathanos replied, and Anduin could hear the grin of amusement on his face as he continued to speak, “tut tut. How undignified of you, to have yourself carried about like a child.”

“Don’t care. I’m tired. Bring me inside.” Anduin pouted, and Nathanos laughed and pulled open one of the old oak doors.

Once inside his chambers, Anduin raised his head. There was already a fire going in the hearth, and a table with a few trays set out of food and drink. He didn’t feel hunger anymore, didn’t feel thirst, but he could still eat, and he could still taste things, if they were strong enough. Would it be too much if he…? There was only one way to find out.

“Feed me.” Anduin demanded, gesturing with one arm over to the table. With his head down, he couldn’t see Nathanos’ full expression, but after a few seconds’ pause during which Anduin _swiftly_ began regretting every single one of his life’s choices, the tall man walked towards the set-up and eased Anduin down onto one of the nearby couches. Even as he sank into the plush cushions and looked up, Nathanos began wordlessly tugging the table close enough to reach.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Anduin sat up and was about to apologize, to relieve Nathanos of this silly duty, when he found bared fingers with food in them sliding into his open mouth. Shocked and hoping that being dead meant he could not longer blush, Anduin closed his lips and took the bite of food, swallowing.

“Good boy.” Nathanos praised him, and Anduin closed his eyes, his stomach convulsing with confusion about why that _sounded so good._ He took a few breaths, but then felt food pressing against his lips once more. He obediently opened them, though he kept his eyes tightly shut to avoid making eye contact with his apparently diligent servant. Was Nathanos laughing at him silently? Or was he doing this in earnest? They hadn’t locked the doors - what if someone were to come in -

The food was good, flavourful. It paled in comparison to how things used to taste, but the cooks had made it more spicy, more powerful, and the wine goblet that Nathanos raised to Anduin’s lips made him gulp it down eagerly. He shuddered deeply when he felt those thick fingers trail down his lips, catching a stray droplet of wine that had escaped his mouth, but Nathanos’ hand continued down, _down_ , a long finger down the centre of his throat, tracing over his Adam’s apple, all the way to his collarbone just below where the open collar of his shirt rested.

Anduin opened his eyes. Nathanos’ gaze was steady with his own, unflinching, purposeful. The young Banshee King suddenly felt very small and vulnerable indeed. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, Nathanos just brought the wine goblet to his lips again, pouring it in. Anduin tipped his head back, trying to swallow, but it ran out the corners of his lips. As he desperately tried to keep drinking, he suddenly felt the brush of beard against his face, and surprisingly warm tongue scrape up the spilled trail of wine. The goblet continued to pour, and Anduin closed his eyes again and whimpered through his nose as Nathanos’ hot mouth slid halfway over his. His emotions roiled in his chest and belly, in anticipation of his first kiss -

The wine glass slid away, along with Nathanos’ tempting mouth, and the Banshee rage inside Anduin _screamed_ at the loss. It _demanded_ that kiss, the sensation of lips against his own, something, anything more than this teasing dance. But...did he even _want_ this? Nathanos wasn’t his lover, they had no history other than violence. Was Anduin channeling Sylvanas? Surely the two of them had...well, certainly when they were _alive_. Both of them were adults, had made their own choices about this, had fallen in love. He’d had his suspicions, had read the files on the Marris stead.

Anduin opened his eyes. Nathanos had turned away from him, was standing with his back to the boy. He could see the taller man tipping the wine glass back until it was empty, then he set it on the table.

“Do you have any further orders tonight, my King?” Nathanos’ voice betrayed no emotion, just calm and quiet.

“No.” Anduin replied, observing him. The other man stood upright, stiff, and was pulling his gloves back on.

“Then I shall bid you good night.”

“Good night, Nathanos…” Anduin murmured. He watched until the other man had exited the room, through the main doors. He wanted to call him back, to tell him to wait, to order Nathanos to kiss him. He had been _so close,_ so close it hurt. His face still tingled from where he’d licked the wine off of it, from where his beard had scratched. Anduin put a hand to his cheek, feeling the burn and wishing it would last, wishing he could feel it again.

Would Nathanos do that for him? He’d carried him like a tiny child, as though Anduin were a small boy again, and if that didn’t make him feel more safe than he’d felt in years, he was lying to himself. He seemed to want to take care of him, and he’d obeyed such a playful order...but would Nathanos really obey an order to kiss him?

Anduin sat on the couch for several long minutes before getting wearily to his feet and trudging to his inner bedroom. His whole body ached, but in a most delicious way. Peeling off his day-clothes and dumping them on a chair, the Banshee King crawled into his soft bed and pulled the blankets up to his neck, making himself a nest in the pillows. He closed his eyes, willing his bodily needs away, but the rage inside him was screaming, demanding his attention, pulling his hand down between his thighs and palming that specific need, that specific ache.

He came quickly with Nathanos’ name spilling from his lips like wine.


	5. Chapter 5

Nathanos was in his chambers the next morning, serving some tea. It was strong, bold, smelling of cinnamon and cloves. Anduin looked at him from where he lay on the pillows, not moving, just watching. The taller man had his hair back, but a bit looser than usual - he’d apparently skipped his daily oiling appointment, because it looked freshly washed and dried. Anduin was about to comment on how fluffy he looked, when the tray was brought to his bedside table. 

“I have some bad news.” Nathanos reported, pouring the tea into a cup and passing it to the young Banshee King, who had finished sitting up and was gingerly blowing it to cool it down. His own breath helped cool it quite quickly and he resolved not to blow so much on the next cup, so that it would stay warm down his throat and into his belly. “Today’s negotiations had to be cancelled due to the weather.” 

“The weather?” Anduin looked out the window. Sure, it was stormy out there, but nothing they couldn’t protect against. “Really? They went through Northrend, they went through Pandaria, but they won’t brave a little thunderstorm?” 

There was a crack of thunder that made him jump a foot in the air, followed by a deep, bone-rattling rumble. Nathanos sipped calmly from his teacup while Anduin tried to calm down his racing heart, rapidly-cooling tea spilled all over his hand and the upturned tray in his lap. Nathanos had somehow managed to save the teapot. 

“...Fine. And no one is angry or upset about this?” 

“Well, the usual suspects aren’t happy. But the High Overlord and your purple noodle man have managed to calm everyone down.” 

_ Purple noodle...Velen?  _ “We’ll meet again when the storm passes, whether that be tonight or tomorrow morning.” Anduin nodded firmly. “These discussions are of the utmost importance. They have to continue as soon as possible.” 

“Actually, I heard that those two have bonded over burying their sons.” Nathanos sipped from his own teacup. Anduin felt a wave of nausea sweep over him, and put his teacup down to rest in its saucer, licking his lips and looking away. He had been only a child when the campaign in Northrend had brought the younger Saurfang to his death—not once but twice—and it had only been in the previous few months, right before the final defeat of the Legion, that Velen’s son had been killed in the defense of the Exodar and its people. 

“That’s hardly a way to put it,” he muttered, glaring at Nathanos from his lowered head. “I don’t know if you think you’re being funny, but for the living, death isn’t a joking matter.” 

“On the contrary.” Nathanos was looking at him with raised, yet blasé, eyebrows. “Death is one of the strongest bonds that can bind two or more men, especially their sons.” 

Anduin squirmed. Somehow, whenever Nathanos spoke, he felt like he hadn’t been paying attention to some life lesson he should’ve learned long ago. He felt so young and inexperienced next to him, but he also couldn’t tell if Nathanos was sassing him or not. And it was too much to call him out on it. 

“I see.” He began drinking his tea again, braving another thunderclap that had his teacup rattling against his teeth as he sipped. “Do you know of any other tricks to get the others back into good graces with each other? I don’t think Lor’themar Theron has any offspring, and Alleria will have my head on a pike if anything were to happen to Arator.” Perhaps black humour was the way into Nathanos’ mind, anything to try and glean more from this enigmatic man. 

“Death and sex are the only two ways to make people bond. If he has no offspring, perhaps he’s a virgin. How attached is that Draenei-obsessed moron she calls her husband?” Nathanos asked mildly, but Anduin nearly spat out his tea with laughter. The thought of Alleria going to bed with the Lord Regent of the blood elves and guiding him through sex...it had him laughing until he was clear out of breath and red in the face. He was suddenly grateful for Nathanos’ hands taking his tea set away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Anduin gasped, tilting his head back, trying to relax again. Undeath meant he didn’t need to breathe in order to live, but he  _ did  _ need air passing over his vocal chords in order to speak. “I was just...you said it so plainly that I could see it in my head and it...oh, dear, I don’t think that would go well at all.” 

“Well, don’t blame me if your other ideas of chocolates and roses don’t make them swoon. Put them in a room together and don’t let them leave until they’ve killed each other or made up.” Nathanos was settling the tea-tray back on the trolley. 

“Oh, and if I did that to you and Genn?” His sassiness spilled out before he could stop himself. He watched as Nathanos visibly bristled, turning around with narrowed eyes over his collar. “I-I, forgive me, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry, it just slipped out—” 

“Oh, I have very little doubt that one or both of us would end up dead.” Nathanos’ voice was calmer than he looked. “My sexual tastes would seem abhorrent to him, anyway.” 

The twisting in his stomach took a different direction of warmth, a blossoming of heat inside his cold body. “Really then, tell me of your abhorrent sexual tastes, I’ll have no secrets kept from me in my own home.” Anduin took a breath, emboldened by the Banshee’s howl inside of him. 

Nathanos smirked and turned his head, pushing the trolley with the tea-tray near the doorway, but against the wall and out of the way. “You’ve just proved you have a highly active imagination, my King. I suggest you put it to its better use.” 

“Oh, Nathanos.” Anduin fluttered his eyelashes, not sure where this was all coming from, but feeling almost drunkenly giddy with this new power he seemed to have. “Are you telling me that I should be imagining  _ you  _ in the most sexual of ways?” 

Nathanos snorted, but his grin kept widening. “That would be up to you. Are you even capable of thinking of  _ anyone  _ in a sexual light, considering  _ you’ve  _ never done anything of the sort before?” 

The fire that had been spreading in his belly felt like it had been doused with cold water. Anduin curled up, drawing in his knees under the blankets. His face fell; he looked away. “Insulting your King now?”

There was a pause. “It wasn’t meant as an insult.” As close to an apology as Nathanos got, Anduin assumed, and let his shoulders drop from their tense position. He felt the side of the bed dip down, as the weight of the larger man joined him. “But you  _ did  _ confirm my suspicions.” 

Anduin felt his cheeks burning again. He was finding out the hard way, that he could still blush, despite his undeath. “Well, I haven’t had much time for courtship. I assume my father was hoping a good arrangement would come along, a political marriage. I was fully prepared for one, in any case.” 

“Fully prepared? Were you trained in the ways of artful loving?” Nathanos smirked, and Anduin could feel him pressing into his side. “How to hold your bride while you danced with her, how you pour her wine, how you take her on your wedding night?” 

“Get off of me.” Anduin pushed him suddenly, feeling awkward and embarrassed and aroused in the most unnerving of combinations. “And I don’t care if you don’t mean to be insulting, I still don’t like your tone.” 

“Oh? Would you like it more like this,” Nathanos’ lips were suddenly against the delicate shell of his ear, beard tickling around the outside, “and I asked you if you were instructed on how to  _ fuck  _ someone, how to kiss someone’s lips until they were swollen, how to lick at your lover until they came apart beneath you…?” 

Anduin shuddered deeply, eyes closed, every ounce of heat coming back in a flash to his cheeks, his chest, his belly, and a stabbing need between his legs. “A-ah, no, not like that…” He wasn’t sure what he was saying, trying to protest Nathanos, but not really, not when he could talk  _ like that… _

“Then, my precious boy, you’re behind in your lessons. Perhaps I should resume them, where they left off…” His lips were gone from Anduin’s ear, and despite his best efforts, the young king let out a soft little whimper at the loss. “I think I should start...right here.” His thumb was on Anduin’s lower lip, tugging him down a bit, over and across, Nathanos’ big hand supporting his chin, the glove somehow removed at some point. Skin-on-skin, cool against his flush, what little warmth he had left, and Anduin made no protest, made no move to stop him, only closing his eyes as his head was tilted back. 

Soft lips brushed against his own, framed by that bushy, tickling beard. Anduin melted like every heroine he’d ever read in stolen moments with Steamy Romance novels, marveling at how plush and soft Nathanos’ lips were. He’d always imagined kissing would be more pushy and forceful, body parts harder, even if he was kissing a girl. 

Something wet was pushing at his lips. He opened them. Anduin moaned as he felt Nathanos’ tongue slide into him, and  _ that  _ was a wonder, too. How soft, how slick and warm, despite their undeath, their insides still kept some level of it. Surely tongues would be harder than lips, being a muscle, but no. Just deliciously good, still tasting a bit of the cinnamon in their earlier tea. He tentatively reached out with his own tongue, and Nathanos encouraged him, coaxing, sliding their tongues together as their lips opened more. 

There were teeth in his lip, tugging him down more, and Anduin groaned, feeling his cock beginning to leak in his sleep pants, but Nathanos seemed totally uninterested in anything other than kissing. Very well, he would kiss his way to completion if he needed to! Anduin pushed back a little more, trying to take control of the kiss, but the older man seemed to take that as a challenge, and plunged deeper into the young King’s waiting mouth, making him swoon. He felt Nathanos’ other arm go around his back, keeping him upright, and at some point, his own hands had wandered up into Nathanos’ hair. Oh, it was just as soft as it had looked earlier, without its slick of pommade…

Nathanos drew him closer, and Anduin broke the kiss as little as he had to in order to climb into Nathanos’ lap, eagerly straddling him, and though he felt ridiculous for a moment - he was king here, not this brash former Horde champion - he was rewarded for his efforts by more of Nathanos’ skilled, wonderful mouth. He began to grind up against him, and though Nathanos didn’t help him, he didn’t stop him either, and Anduin whimpered and hiccoughed and shook as he kissed and humped at the rough texture in front of him. 

“Please, please, please,” he gasped, breaking the kiss for an agonizing moment, “please, I need—” 

“Hush. You need only my lessons, and when I choose to give them. No new lesson can begin before the old one is finished.” Nathanos scolded him, keeping his hands exactly where they were - one on Anduin’s face, the other wrapped around his back for support. “If you don’t pay attention, you won’t learn.” 

Anduin felt like weeping, but Nathanos brought their lips together again and the Banshee King welcomed it, welcomed back that sinfully delicious mouth, grabbing hold of Nathanos’ lower back and grinding purposefully, hips jerking, until he was coming hard in his sleep clothes, whimpering and weak into the kiss. 

Nathanos held him steady while he shuddered through each spurt of his orgasm, filling up the front with sticky-hot cum, wishing wildly for something more. Hopefully one of the next lessons would involve more of that…

“The lesson is complete. You should wash and dress for the day, since you have other duties, not just your negotiations.” Nathanos was rising from the bed and straightening his clothes, pulling his gloves back on. 

“Can’t I have another lesson now?” Anduin protested, feeling dizzy with pleasure as he slumped sideways against the pillows, precocious and sassy. 

He watched Nathanos smirk, then turn away again. “One lesson per day, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t want the knowledge you’ve gained this morning go to waste by trying to teach you too much at once.” 

Anduin sighed, closing his eyes and wrinkling his nose. He  _ did  _ have to wonder to himself, if this smarmy bastard was going to drive him into a Banshee’s rage after all. 


	6. Chapter 6

Though the storm raged all day, by evening it was calming down and everyone had high hopes for the next day. In fact, over a brief dinner meeting (hosted by the Alliance chefs), an enthusiastic Theron was chatting with Velen over some Sunwell ceremonies, and Anduin even spotted Saurfang attempting to engage Genn in conversation about different traditions of honouring their sons.

It ended on a high note in particular when Gallywix pulled off a surprising firework display over dessert, and everyone was laughing and relaxing as though they’d always been friends, when they finally had to part.

Everything would be settled in the next few days, he thought to himself tiredly, as he climbed the stairs to his chambers, if they could only continue like this. If they could just see their diversities as strengths, rather than things to fight against, they would have true, lasting peace, within the week.

He was still grinning like a fool as he opened the door to his chambers.

Nathanos was stretched out in his bed, all of his usual leathers gone. Instead, he was wearing a simple cloth shirt and trousers, his hair swept back but loose, and nothing on his feet.

“I wondered where you had gone after dessert.” Anduin smirked a little, letting the door close behind him, a little frisson of excitement shooting up his spine. “If you wanted to get back in bed with me so soon, you might have sent word.”

Nathanos gave him serious side-eye from the book he was reading, then licked his finger and turned the page in silence.

Anduin twitched. “I have no _time_ for games.”

“That’s what she used to say.” Nathanos replied calmly, turning the next page of his book. “Perhaps it’s not _your_ bed I’m waiting in, but _hers._ Have you thought of that?”

Something bubbled in the Banshee King’s stomach. He stormed across the room and plucked the book out of Nathanos’ hands, tossing it to the table beside the bed. “I am _not_ Sylvanas. If anything remains of her inside of me, it’s _not_ something I want, nor is it anything that I - we - should entertain!” He hissed. “I will not let her curse make me into a monster the way Arthas did to her. No one is beyond redemption, but she _did not want it._ I _do._ Now, if you’re not here for _me,_ then _get out of my bed_.”

Nathanos looked surprised. _Was that...is he...smiling?_

Anduin didn’t see the hand that snaked out and pulled him in, it was so lightning-quick. Yet he still moaned with pleasure as he felt Nathanos’ lips meet his. It was tempting to tease and to point out that technically, since it wasn’t yet dawn, this was two lessons in one day, if they were to continue. But he assumed that pushing Nathanos too far would result in the matter being dropped altogether, and so he let it be, and just kissed him back.

He slid onto Nathanos’ lap, straddling him as he had earlier that day, and boldly ran his hands up the other man’s arms. Nathanos, however, stopped him, holding Anduin’s wrists in his own massive palms. “Not yet,” he pulled back from the kiss, smirking, “wait until I give the lesson.”

“Then give the lesson!” Anduin pouted, trying to squirm, feeling a bit ridiculous and helpless with Nathanos holding his hands hostage.

“Very well.” Nathanos chuckled, and with a deft flip, they had swapped positions; Anduin was flat on his back on the bed, with Nathanos above him. He looked up and swallowed as the taller man leaned down with a grin that looked a little _too_ predatory. “Let the lesson commence.”

Strong hands ran down Anduin’s arms, which had been flung above his head. When he began to move them, Nathanos barked a sharp, quick, “ _stay still_ ” and Anduin struggled to obey. He didn’t want those hands to stop touching him.

They ran down his arms to his shoulders, then over across his chest, spreading out, fingers and palms massaging. Anduin groaned; it was erotic as well as soothing and comforting, to be touched this way, his muscles relaxing under the touches.

Nathanos’ hands were deft as well as large and strong, quickly unlacing Anduin’s clothes and removing them with ease, helping the young king sit up to remove his shirt before resuming those roving touches. Anduin let his eyes fall shut, sighing and moaning happily at every good sensation.

“Open your eyes. You’re supposed to be learning what to do by observing me.” Nathanos chuckled, and Anduin groaned and forced his eyes open again, forced himself to watch. It was intensely, painfully erotic as he went. Anduin bit his lip when Nathanos ghosted his hands over his nipples, then returned to them, teasing each time, lingering until he was twisting and pinching and pulling and Anduin had a hard time staying still, trembling. His cock was standing wetly in his trousers, leaking all over itself and him, and he bunched up his fists in the blankets below them to stop from touching himself. The agony was more delicious this way, the feelings more intense.

“Good boy,” Nathanos whispered in his ear, and Anduin whimpered.

“P-please,” he managed, forcing himself to breathe so that he could speak, “please, I want to be your good boy, tell me how I can be your good boy…”

He heard Nathanos chuckling to himself. “Mmm, well, you can be my good boy by holding still and paying attention...you’re doing well so far.” With that, his mouth was gone again, and Nathanos was kneeling back to unlace Anduin’s trousers, freeing his cock. “Lift your hips…” He gestured, slowly easing the young king out of them and his underclothes. While still mostly dressed himself, the Banshee below him was now fully naked, wet, and wanting.

Anduin squirmed, trying to hold still as Nathanos raked over him with his eyes, inspecting every inch of him. He tried to catch a glimpse of the other man’s hips, trying to see if he was just as interested, just as wantonly aroused, but he remained frustratingly distant, in shadow. Perhaps he was wearing some sort of concealing device to prevent such a thing from being so obvious, but clearly he had no intention of letting Anduin’s go to waste.

The feeling of Nathanos’ strong fingers closing around his cock for the very first time nearly made Anduin cum on the spot. He choked, twisted, short-clipped nails digging into the blankets as he fought every instinct to move, to thrust up, to lose himself in _fucking_ and to cum like that. If he did, he feared the lesson would be over, and he would have to wait another day for such wonderful, wonderful touches.

Luckily, he managed not to, by the skin of his teeth. Anduin was left gasping as Nathanos stroked his cock, up and down, oh so slowly. He hissed a little as the man’s other hand squeezed his hip bone, then went up to play with his nipples again. However, soon the pleasure from being stroked wasn’t good enough; the sensation was all wrong. Nathanos seemed to sense this, and pulled back. From his pocket he produced something, some sort of little pot or container, and Anduin hoisted himself up onto his elbows, getting a few pillows behind his head and back so he could sit up better and watch.

When Nathanos lowered his hand again, Anduin was grateful for his pillows, for otherwise he might’ve hit his head on the wall. It was slick and smooth now, and warm! So warm, so wet, even though it was his hand...clearly he’d used some manner of oil or pomade for it...Anduin wondered wildly if this was the same gunk that he put in his hair to make it stay so solid, but the thought was dashed away when Nathanos swept his thumb over the head of the young king’s cock and leaned over to whisper in his ear again.

“Come for me, my good boy, come in my hand, let your seed spill into my palm, just for me, be my good boy now…”

He choked and came suddenly with that praise, his arms flying up and around Nathanos’ still-clothed back, clutching at him. Anduin couldn’t summon words, just thrust up with each pulse from his cock, he felt so full of cum, letting it all go into the other man’s waiting grasp.

All too soon, however, it was over, and Nathanos was laying him back down. Anduin closed his eyes and tried to recover, listening to the taller man chuckling and cleaning his hands on a nearby towel. “You did very well tonight, my good boy. Hopefully you’ve learned from my lessons so far, hmm?”

“Yes. Yes I have.” Anduin panted, grinning from ear to ear as he lay still. He wasn’t waiting long before Nathanos returned, rolling him under the blankets and tucking him in. “I look forward to your next lessons. Perhaps I’ll have a final examination?”

“At the end.” Nathanos leaned in and kissed Anduin’s cheek, then his forehead, and the young Banshee King melted for a completely different reason. The brush of beard, gentle lips, the stroke of fingers gently through his hair...it made him feel so safe. “Good night, my good boy.”


	7. Chapter 7

He was surprised the next morning to see Tyrande at the table.

Certainly, he was not the only one.

She was not alone. Malfurion sat at her side, but during the opening discussions, he didn’t say anything. In fact, whenever he opened his mouth, he jerked and winced, as though some sort of silencing spell had been cast upon him. Knowing that every other magic was silenced made Anduin suspicious, but Tyrande seemed both at ease and frustrated at the same time, so he didn’t call attention to it.

He wanted to speak to Malfurion, especially regarding the resettlement of the Night Elves and possibly about having the druids helping set up a restoration task force to bring greenery back to places that had been damaged during the fighting. However, Tyrande would not let him away from her, even during the break-out sessions where they were all in small groups around the room, engaged in conversation and non-binding arguments.

Then, just for a moment, Tyrande turned her back. She was called to by a priestess, an attendant who’d entered the room, and she turned away from Malfurion. Seeing his chance, High King Anduin took two steps forward and smiled warmly (and as non threateningly as possible) up to Malfurion’s bearded face.

“Thank you for coming to these discussions today.” Anduin beamed at him.

Malfurion beamed back at him. “ _Such a nice young man, you are. You look a bit pale, though. Perhaps you should sit in the sun for a while._ ”

The smile dropped away from Anduin’s face. _What?_ Malfurion was speaking in Darnassian, not Common. It was an agreed-upon standard of their conference that all parties would stick to either Common or Orcish, so as not to seem to be keeping secrets from anyone. Of course, Anduin _could_ speak Darnassian, knew it from boyhood, having been taught it by his tutors. Also...that hadn’t been the answer he had been expecting.

“Shan’do... _Honoured Teacher, Archdruid Stormrage,_ ” Anduin murmured, keeping his voice low, swapping to Darnassian...just in case. “ _Is something wrong?_ ”

“ _Are you one of my students?_ ” Malfurion frowned at him, blinking and tilting his head at him like a confused bird. “ _I don’t recognize you._ ”

Anduin’s eyes widened and he was about to ask another question when he felt a grip like piercing-hot irons on his shoulder.

“Your _Maj_ esty, I think you should leave the speaking up to _me_ and _not_ my husband.” Tyrande’s voice hissed from behind him, like a viper. He quickly turned, meeting her gaze, suddenly fearful. He felt the swell of Banshee rage inside him but quelled it, ordering it to be silent. He was among _friends_ here, people he trusted, even if not everyone here _liked_ him. Hopefully they _did_ respect him.

“My apologies, Lady Tyrande.” Anduin replied hastily, though still under his breath, so the Horde members across the room would not pick up on their quiet conversation. Then, he raised his voice. “Honoured guests - I would like to announce a recess for lunch. Please, we will reconvene in an hour.”

Everyone in the room stopped talking to look at one another. Some shrugged, others looked happy, and people started leaving. One of the staff glared at him half-heartedly, knowing it was _far_ too early for lunch and the kitchen would have to work double-time, but Anduin paid him no mind.

Once the room was finally empty (he had a spark of happiness to see Lor’themar Theron chatting animatedly with Velen and the two of them _laughing_ together about something as the door closed behind them!), he turned back to Tyrande and Malfurion.

“Explain.” Anduin demanded, folding his arms across his chest. Malfurion just blinked and smiled at him again, good-naturedly.

Tyrande wavered, then settled delicately into a chair and rubbed her forehead. “I was afraid this would happen.” She sighed, and her breath trembled. A moment, then she looked back up at Anduing. “My husband has been...steadily losing his grasp on this world over the past few months. His capture and torment by Xavius left him with deep wounds in his mind, and the attack on him followed by the loss of our home proved too great. He is…” she paused, considering her next words carefully. “He is childlike, now, in the sense that he is very simple. He has some knowledge of his name and shapeshifting abilities, thank Elune, but little else.”

Anduin was horrified. “Is there nothing the healers can do?”

Tyrande’s eyes were full of tears, angry and sad. “Don’t you think we have tried!? We have tried _everything_ we could think of. Even when guided into the Dream, he does not regain his senses. One of the druids suggested...it would be a kindness to leave him there.” Her lower lip trembled, then she set her jaw and tightened her hand in Malfurion’s. Her husband looked down at his hand, now being squeezed quite hard, and smiled dotingly.

“ _There, there. It will be alright. We are in no danger here._ ” Malfurion smiled warmly, his Darnassian rich and soft. “ _I promise I’ll take care of you, little one._ ”

At this, Tyrande’s face became a grim line of despair, scrunching her eyes tightly shut and pulling her mouth wide into a grimace, trying to lock her jaw in place so as not to scream.

“ **He does not know who I am**.” Tyrande forced through gritted teeth.

A hot, sick, swooping sensation nearly knocked Anduin off his feet. Malfurion Stormrage was _gone_.

“I...I am so, so sorry.” He reached out a hand, not realizing how badly he himself was shaking. Tyrande brushed him away and gathered herself again, only one sniffle to her intake of breath.

“I will weather this as I have weathered everything in my life.” Tyrande said, every inch the stately High Priestess. “We will take our leave now.”

“Of course.” Anduin shook his head, then glanced at Malfurion one last time. He bowed deeply, his hands together in the traditional Night Elf way.

Malfurion bowed the same way. “ _It was nice to meet you, young man._ ”

“ _I_ _am truly honoured. Go in peace._ ” Anduin replied, as calmly as he could.

The rest of the day passed in dizzying moments of confusion and clarity. When everyone returned from lunch there was some noise about Tyrande having left early, but Anduin came up with some excuse that she’d said all the Night Elves had to say, that they were refugees right now, and their resettlement could come later, after the faction negotiations had completed. They were so, _so_ close to finalizing borders and proper treaties; he couldn’t risk anything going wrong at this point.

When everyone left that evening, he found himself wandering the halls of the Keep, alone. Needing something sturdy, he pressed his palms and cheek into the firmness of the stone wall, not much colder than his own skin right now. Silence greeted him; for the first time in days, Nathanos had been nowhere to be found upon waking up.

He wanted him, now.

He wanted strong hands, strong arms, some manner of reassurance that all was not lost. They were so close to a resolution he could _taste_ it, yet he never felt more lost in his life. Anduin closed his eyes tightly and _begged_ silently for Nathanos.

He didn’t come.


	8. Chapter 8

Morning came and the Banshee King washed, dressed, and went down to the meeting rooms to continue their treaty talks. He felt heavy, sad, quiet and tired, but he desperately did not want to show it, even though he felt that at this point no one would try to take advantage of his weaknesses.

Well, maybe Gallywix.

His seat was drawn out for him by an attendant and he sank into it gratefully, looking around the room. The others were settling in, some with drinks still in-hand from the breakfast provided earlier; Lor’themar, Velen, Genn, Alleria…

“Thank you.” A voice he remembered, just a little, and a figure who sank into the chair opposite him. Despite the discolouration in his skin and hair, his smile was pleasant and his golden eyes shone with a soft ethereal light. He was addressing an attendant who’d pulled out a chair for him. “That’s actually quite comfortable.”

“Archbishop?” Anduin blinked in surprise. Alonsus Faol had been neither invited nor expected, yet he was not an unwelcome presence, especially now. “To what do we owe this honour?”

Alonsus smiled at him again. “High King, even though you wish to make a treaty with all peoples of this world, you have neglected to invite representatives from all areas.”

Anduin raised an eyebrow, looked down at himself, then across the table. “Archbishop, are you saying I am an unfit leader of the Forsaken?”

The other man laughed, easily and freely. “Do you truly see yourself as Forsaken, then?”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and it went on for longer than he would’ve liked to have let it. “No.” Anduin finally admitted. “I don’t, not really. I still...I don’t _feel_ human anymore, but I still think I am, on some level.”

“Then my presence here should prove to be of value, though neither of us belong to the Horde, we are connected to the people who wish to reunify under the same banner.” Alonsus’ smile widened as he wiggled slightly and relaxed back against the cushions of the chair. “That really _is_ comfortable…”

Anduin did his best to hide his grin as he called the meeting to order and the attendants passed around the lastest drafts of the master treaty. It was Lor’themar’s turn to update everyone, and he seemed especially enthusiastic when he read the changes that they’d made most recently, involving a massive undertaking of restoring the lands of Quel’thalas. It was going to take a lot of time and effort, but everyone agreed that ultimately, it would be worth it.

Once they’d finished the introductions, everyone began adding on to the sticking point of the lands in the north and centre of Kalimdor. The climate had become more hostile in recent years, especially after the Cataclysm, and the Orcs needed more resources, which the night elves in Ashenvale were reluctant to part with. The back and forth was beginning to give Anduin a headache when he felt a boney fingertip press into the crook of his elbow and a soothing wave wash over him.

He blinked, looking over; Alonsus was casting some sort of healing spell. Surprised that it was working on someone like him, Anduin remained silent and unmoving, just watching him. The conversation down at the other end of the table eluded him for a moment.

“You’ve let your studies of the Light slide if you’re impressed by a simple healing spell, High King.” Alonsus chided him.

Anduin turned his face away. “The Light has abandoned me, it seems,” he replied quietly, “I cannot feel it at all, cannot draw upon its power.”

“Nonsense. The Light never abandons its followers who need it most.” Alonsus’ fingertip poked into the soft flesh of his arm, causing a small spark of what could have been pain, if not for his dulled senses. An admonishment of sorts. “I’ll bet it’s trying to reach you right now, even, it’s just that you’ve given up trying to find out how.”

Anduin’s heart sank. It was true; he’d essentially given up on trying to get back the connection he once had. He doubted, however, that it would be as easy as Faol was suggesting, but perhaps he just wasn’t trying in the right ways.

“I think that in just a few more days, we should have a finalized, formalized document.” Lady Thalyssra was smiling as she stood and read over the changes that they were making now. “We should plan for celebration.” She looked over at Lor’themar and beamed at him, and the Elfin leader coughed into his hand as the tips of his ears reddened a little. “One day might not even be enough.”

“A week’s worth of partying? Oh boy, oh boy, I can hardly wait!” Gallywix jiggled as he rubbed his hands together gleefully. Most of his own negotiations had been strictly about free-flowing trade routes and establishing shipping corridors, though he _had_ brought forward proposals for better treatment of his people overall. “This is gonna be _good_.”

“Indeed.” Baine agreed with him. “And would be most welcome after these past few months fraught with such tension.” He looked up the table towards Anduin. “It will be good to call you my friend again.”

“It will be good to call you _all_ my friends.” Anduin was sitting up a little more, a grateful smile on his face, ease settling in his bones. “Against whatever the future may hold.”

There was a murmur of assent, then everyone began to break for the evening meal. There would be no more discussions today, but as Anduin stood to leave, himself, Alonsus caught him and tugged him away from the group, away from the noise and laughter of the others. He brought him down the length of the table to the hearth, and his twisted body was lit oddly by the flames licking the paving-stones.

“The Light is still waiting for you.” He promised Anduin, taking the young king’s hands and squeezing them. The white bone pinched against pale flesh. “Come down to the Cathedral tonight, with me, and we will reunite you.”

“I will.” Anduin agreed, then hesitated. “Archbishop, how can I ever repay you for this kindness?”

“Well…” he looked back over his shoulder, casting a glance down the length of the table. “That chair is _really_ comfy…”

Anduin laughed. “You can have it,” he offered, “in fact, let’s bring it with us.”

The two of them, followed by some attendants (very amused at having to bring the padded armchair along), made their way down to the Cathedral of Light, and though Anduin felt a temporary frisson up the back of his neck when he crossed the threshold, otherwise, he felt nothing. It was so very, very different from before, and he had to admit to himself that he’d been avoiding this part of the city since his return.

“Perhaps the Netherlight Temple, with Saa’ra, might be of more use…” Anduin whispered as they approached the rear.

“Why, when this is your home?” Faol responded, and Anduin knew he was right. Though during the Legion’s incursion he had learned of it, and even visited it, the Cathedral of Light was what he knew.

“What should I do? Should I pray? Meditate?”

“When you were a child, before you understood what the Light was, what did it feel like? How did you know it was there?”

Anduin paused. It was difficult to answer such an introspective question, but he searched within himself for the answer, and came to one. “It was...it was like I had a piece of joy within me, that never stopped singing.” He admitted quietly. “A tiny spark that didn’t go out, no matter what.”

“Does it feel extinguished?”

“No.” Anduin shook his head. He let go of Alonsus’ hand and walked up to the dias. “No, it feels like it’s been surrounded by a layer of quicksand, or curtains, something obscuring it.” he opened his palms, pressing them against the wood, feeling the texture, not knowing if he was begging for a splinter to cause him pain so that he could feel _something_ , _anything_. “Give it _back_ to me,” he murmured under his breath, to no one in particular. Perhaps himself. “ _Give it back_.”

“You shouldn’t have to fight against yourself, if what you want is to be happy.” Alonsus’ voice came from somewhere behind him, off in a direction, hazy, sounding distorted. “Perhaps what you’ve been holding back is that permission, to let yourself be happy, to feel that joy again.”

“How can I allow myself to be happy when I’m afflicted by such a curse?” Anduin brought his hands up to his face, feeling the Banshee rage swelling inside him. “And knowing I’m the cause of so much suffering and pain?”

“Warg _shit_ ,” came the quick reply, “and you know it. You’ve had heavy burdens to bear through the years; this is no different. The Light was strong with me, it is _still_ strong in you. _Give yourself permission to feel joy and stop hiding behind your fear of failure_. You are a priest and a king and a _person_. Do not deny yourself the rights you so valiantly defend for others.”

Anduin dipped his head, closing his eyes. How could he even _begin_ to forgive himself for everything that had happened? It would be hopeless, this quest to restore the Light within him, if it involved such a thing. Didn’t he have to harden his heart against the world if he was to bear the weight of it? Surely his father did…

Memories of Varian, of training, lessons, lectures, expectations, rolled through his mind. His shoulders shook as the pain of having lost someone so dear wrenched him again. But then - laughter. Sheer, honest laughter, his father’s laugh, rich and happy and relaxed. He could still remember his father’s laugh, and Anduin felt something burning behind the lids of his eyes.

“What…?” he raised a hand to his face. Tears. Real tears, something he thought he was incapable of, and as he stared at his wet fingers in wonder, something shifted inside him. He closed his eyes and leaned on the table again, spreading his fingers, reaching out to the holiness of this place, letting the sound of his father’s joy remind him of his own.

And in that place inside of him, buried so deep that only forgiveness could reach it, a spark ignited.

Anduin collapsed to his knees, gasping as it expanded and grew inside him, feeling as though it might engulf him in flames and explode in a fiery eruption of light, but he reached to it again, and it tempered itself, coiling and entwining itself with the Banshee’s rage, and the two settled in his core, calming one another. It was an entirely odd feeling, such peace and anger at the same time, but he no longer felt so alone, and he quickly turned to tell Alonsus the good news -

The Archbishop had passed out in the armchair, head back over the side, completely asleep. His mouth was wide open, and had he had had the need to breathe, likely would’ve been snoring. Anduin grinned to himself, coming down off the steps and kneeling by the side of the chair. Lowering his head reverently, he began to pray.


	9. Chapter 9

When he returned to his chambers, he was surprised but relieved to find that Nathanos was waiting for him, propped up in bed, an open book in his hands.

“Where have you been?” The young Banshee King demanded, shutting the heavy door behind him and beginning to disrobe. He hung up his things as Nathanos answered him calmly from his seated position, unmoving.

“I had some things to take care of. I can’t speak of them. I hadn’t meant to take so long.”

It was as close to an apology as he was going to get from Nathanos, so Anduin let the matter be, and, in just his underclothes, crawled under the blankets when the other man held them up. He was too tired and relaxed to want another ‘lesson’, and Nathanos seemed to sense this, putting out the light and settling in the bed with him, resting. After a few moments of Nathanos stroking his hair, Anduin found himself falling asleep.

In what could only be a dream (yet how could he be dreaming when he hadn’t before? Was this due to his renewed connection with the Light?), Anduin found himself in a small room. It looked like the room he’d woken up in when he’d first been raised, but everything was in the opposite place, like a mirror image. Nathanos was not there, but Sylvanas was lazily sitting in a throne-like chair, idly playing with the collar of her coat.

“So you finally decided to pay me a visit.” She sat up, stretching like a cat, arms high above her head, before rising to her feet and walking over to him. Anduin pulled back, wary of her, even in this dream. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You’re dead, Sylvanas.” Anduin pointed out, out loud, trying to make this all go away.

“Of course I am, you silly boy, and so are you.” Sylvanas brought her hand to his face, making his eyes cross as he tracked her finger, but she only poked him in the nose before withdrawing. “And of course, you know who you should thank for that.”

“You’re cruel.” Anduin began looking around for a way out of this room. Was he trapped in a nightmare on his very first night of real sleep since dying? That seemed grossly unfair. “I thought I was lucky, considering I don’t remember any of it.”

“Pity. You might not want to be sharing your bed with the man who ended your life.”

Heat bubbled in his belly and he turned. “What did you say?”

Sylvanas grinned with all of her teeth. “Oh, you haven’t guessed by now? And too bad, of course, that it wasn’t even on purpose. A simple kidnapping gone wrong, the boy-king meant to remain alive, but instead, wound up on the wrong end of his blade.”

“You can’t be serious. This was an _accident_?” He didn’t know why he was reacting this way. Surely this was a dream, wasn’t it? Just his subconscious fears preying on him? But...where would he have come up with this idea, anyway? Nathanos had only ever been - well, not _kind_ , but nothing to suggest _this._

“Leaving me with no other choice. Still, it worked out for the best.” Sylvanas came up to him again, stroking his cheek tenderly. Anduin grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her hand away, squeezing.

“Don’t you touch me. I don’t care if you’re real or not.” He felt a little silly ordering this dream about until he heard her next words.

“I’m _very_ real. When you wake up, why don’t you search deep down inside you and find out? Thank you for the power boost, by the way. I was getting hungry.” The figure of Sylvanas yanked her hand back, flexing her fingers to show she wasn’t injured by Anduin’s grasp.

“Shut up. Go away.” Anduin turned his back to her and rubbed his face, then stumbled for the mirror. That had been his way out the first time, and if this room was reversed, maybe it would be a way out now.

“You can’t get away from what’s inside you!”

“Leave me alone.” He grabbed for the mirror, but it wasn’t solid. Emotions roiling, Anduin stepped through.


	10. Chapter 10

 

He was in his bed, staring at the ceiling, gasping reflexively for the breath he did not need, as though he had been underwater. Beside him, Nathanos stirred, glancing over.

“Is something wrong?”

“Get away from me!” Anduin pushed and rolled at the same time, and Nathanos, though he was the larger and heavier of the two dead men, was taken completely by surprise and fell off the side of the bed.

“What in the hell-”

“You! You did this to me!” Everything was happening at once. Anduin felt as though the room were closing in on him. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to, but his chest was seizing, and he felt as though he were underwater. The pressure was indescribable. “You - you killed me! For no reason at all!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nathanos retorted angrily, staggering to his feet. Anduin wanted to leap at him, to claw him to bits, but was frozen in an unearthly pain on the bed.

“ _Stay still,_ ” his voice snarled at him, and Anduin whimpered, trying to move, trying to get away, but only half his body was obeying him.

“I’m not - what are you -” Nathanos’ voice floated to his ears but he was clenching his teeth so hard he could hear them grinding together. Anduin moaned; the pain felt almost euphoric, radiating outward from his belly, shocks that twisted his arms and jerked his back until he arched, whimpering.

“Stop it,” he whispered, through his teeth, feeling light now, dizzy, head spinning, the pain everywhere. Something was happening, deep inside him. His very bones ached, but it was a sweet ache, like a pulling sensation, tugging, warping, shifting. His jaw clattered. Teeth that were not sharp a moment ago were now making his lips bleed. “Make it stop _please please pleasepleasemakeitstop!_ ”

“Anduin!”

Anduin ticked his eyes up, whimpering, sweating with the effort it was taking to try to stay in control. Nathanos had never used his name before, and cool hands on his cheeks were a welcome relief.

He tried to bite them. Or rather, something inside him tried to bite them. Nathanos held his jaw shut and frowned.

“You’re...regressing. What happened? What changed?”

“Got...Light...back…” Anduin gasped, shaking.

“Dammit. The Banshee inside you is feeding off that power. We have to get whatever’s left of the Dark Lady’s spirit out of you. _Now_.”

“H-how?” Anduin ground out, then yelped as something inside him forced him back, flopping him on his back on the bed, pinning him like a bug as he writhed in agony.

“Exorcism.” Nathanos was pulling something out of his pocket, some sort of green stone. Anduin could see him, but not hear him. He saw him move, crush the stone, and a fel-green portal appeared. He wanted to cry; Nathanos would only betray him again, surely.

Instead of any Legion fellow, a pink-skinned girl with long ears and a short black bob hopped out of the portal. She had tiny little horns on top of her head and glowing green eyes behind her blindfold.

“K-kor...vas?” Anduin gasped, through fangs and tongue that were not his own. He recognized her from when the Demon Hunters had come to his aide shortly after the Legion returned.

“I’m not here for a threesome,” Kor’vas joked with a completely straight face as she bounded to the bed, stepping on and using her immense, demonic-aided strength to pin him down. Anduin welcomed the force, though the howl inside him only increased and made it difficult to hear her. “He looks bad.”

“He needs-” Anduin couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them anymore, the pain and weird pleasure were ballooning in his head, it was too much.

There were lips on his mouth.

_What?_

He forced his eyes open. Kor’vas was... _kissing_ him? But why?

Every muscle of his body locked in place as he suddenly heaved, and the angry screaming howl inside him was sucked out through his mouth, into the Demon Hunter’s above him. She kept pulling, and he let her, whimpering as his body flipped and flailed on the bed, fighting her extraction.

He felt like vomiting.

Finally, the wild howling and screeching in his ears stopped, and the pain began to ebb away as Kor’vas gently laid him down in the pillows.

She wiped the back of her mouth and looked at him with pity. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to explain,” she said, in a soft voice, gently petting his hair. Anduin shook a little. His insides were still uncertain, and though the thing that had once been Sylvanas had now been removed, he was still, at his core, a Lightforged Banshee King. “She’s fighting me, but she doesn’t have a chance of winning. Not with the other demons I’ve absorbed.”

“Th-thank you,” he managed to breathe, still watching her. Something threw a shadow on his eyes and he looked over, seeing Nathanos sitting down on the side of the bed. “Y-you.”

“Yes, me.” Nathanos deadpanned. Now that the danger had apparently passed, he was back to his typical gruff, grumpy self. “Now then. What was that all about?”

“Ex...orcism? T-thank you.” Though he was weak, he managed to lift a hand and put it on Kor’vas arm. She smiled down at him, settling beside him, cross-legged on the bed.

“No, no, before that.” Nathanos insisted, crossing his arms.

Anduin blinked at him. “Sh-she told me you killed me.”

“Of course she did.”

Anduin turned his face away. Kor’vas cupped his cheek, stroking his hair, affectionate, like an older sister, looking after him. “Leave me.”

“As you wish, My King.” The bed creaked, and he heard footfalls walking away. Anduin glanced up at Kor’vas again as he heard the door shut.

The two of them regarded one another for a few moments in silence.

“I...really don’t think he did it.” Kor’vas offered with a little wince. “I mean, he _did_ call for me.”

“I saw...something. What did he do?”

“When we departed from our camps in Stormwind and Orgrimmar, we left high-ranking officials with pocket portal summoning stones if they needed us.” Kor’vas explained. “They just had to crush the fel stone, and it would basically sound the alarm in our ship. Whomever was closest would come through. I just happened to be on the deck when it opened.”

“Lucky for me,” Anduin laughed softly, then frowned. “Why would Sylvanas lie to me about that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she was trying to manipulate you.” Kor’vas suggested, leaning on an elbow, then blinked. “Is there anyone else you could ask?”

“I could try to find the Val'kyr that raised me...she might know.” Anduin considered. Already he felt guilty for sending Nathanos away, but he needed to know for certain. He _had_ to be sure.

Kor’vas made to get off the bed and Anduin shot out a hand, grabbing at her ankle. Surprised, she settled back at his side. “Something else?”

“Just...please stay.” Anduin frowned. The demon hunter looked surprised, then she started to laugh. Gently, she nodded.

“I’ll stay. But you have to let go for a minute, okay?”

Anduin slowly unclenched his hand. Kor’vas slipped from the bed, fixing the pillows, fussing over him, easing him back up and tossing off the sweat-and-blood-soaked blankets. Once she’d grabbed a spare from the cabinet at his direction, she came back to the bed and smoothed it over him, then settled next to him and let him have her hand to clutch.

“Kayn is going to tease me for weeks if he hears I let the High King treat me like his own personal Elekk Plushie,” Kor’vas chuckled, and Anduin closed his eyes and just let the comforting presence of another person he trusted ease his anxiety.

He was just drifting off to sleep when Kor’vas burped, and a little wisp of a Banshee’s scream of impotent fury escaped her lips before it dissipated on the night air. Clearly, Sylvanas was helpless within the Demon Hunter’s inner soul prison.

“Excuse me,” Kor’vas apologized. "Looks like someone I ate isn't quite agreeing with me." 

Despite himself, Anduin laughed. 


	11. Chapter 11

When he woke up, Kor’vas was snoring beside him, her mouth open, her little sharp fangs exposed and a tiny puddle of drool on her pillow. He smiled to himself, then sat up. 

Anduin looked down at his hands. They were pale, as usual, and when he flexed them, they seemed to be more claw-like. Anxiety filling his stomach, he stumbled out of bed and staggered to a nearby mirror. 

He didn’t look  _ too  _ different. Apparently whatever Banshee transformation that had come upon him had been interrupted quickly enough to prevent much disfigurement. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over the pointy teeth, but since he was still able to talk without biting through his lips, he closed his jaw and set it. 

He turned; Kor’vas was still curled up in his bed, sleeping. He felt guilty for leaving her there, but he only had a few hours of night before he was supposed to make a speech to open the celebrations for their week-long party. He had to answer any lingering questions before the sun rose. 

Gathering a few items and pulling on his long cloak, Anduin summoned a personal griffin at the balcony and took off. 

Since the destruction of Undercity and the ceasefire between both armies, the camps where he’d known soldiers and their reinforcements to be had been dismissed and sent back to their own cities. Without Sylvanas inside him, he had no way of tracking down the remaining Val’kyr, so he had to act quickly and hope his guesses were correct. 

Luckily, he was. 

His stomach settled only a little when he touched down on the edge of the lake and his feet hit the grass with a soft crunch as he dismounted. Despite the chemical plague over the northern area, one could still traverse Silverpine Forest, and the trees were still alive, here. 

A curious family of deer were regarding him from a nearby copse, their bodies riddled with plague. Still the fawn stood upright, its little nose twitching. Anduin reached out a hand, trying to appear friendly, but they darted off into the darkness. 

There were very few people out and about this time of night, and the families that had made their homes here were content to stay in as Anduin pulled his cloak over his head and began searching. 

Further to the north, the tall buildings of the Silverpine Sepulcher rose out of the gloom, and inside, to his relief, Signe was tending to something near the front. 

She turned when he entered, her face unreadable under her mask. 

“Dark Lord,” she addressed him, a half-bow as he tugged his hood off and came up the aisle. “I was not expecting you. Can I be of some assistance?” 

“Please don’t call me that.” Anduin winced. Signe’s face was impassive. He continued. “I had - I had some questions. About me. About how I came to be...like this.” he gestured to himself with his hand. “Was it you?” 

“Yes.” Signe replied. “Many of my sisters serving under the Dark Lady have been killed. Those of us that remain are willing to be bound to you, and serve you, including myself. But I thought it best to wait until you called on us, considering your...history with us.” Was she smiling? It might have been a gesture of kindness or pity. She had not a mocking tone about her. “The Dark Lady called me to raise you once you had been killed.” 

“Oh.” Anduin’s heart sank. “So you weren’t there when...when the deed was done?” 

“No.” Signe shook her head. “Why?” 

“I need to know who killed me.” 

Signe tilted her head, reaching out a hand. It was larger than his face, and when she put it over the place where he’d been sliced open, he felt his skin tingle through his layers of clothing. 

“The blade belonged to the Dark Ranger Anya, though I do not know if she wielded it at the time of your death. You might ask her, but I believe she is in Orgrimmar right now.” 

A hot sickness filled him. “That’s across the sea. I need to back in Stormwind before dawn. Are there any mages about?” He turned, about to leave the building, stumbling - 

The hand on his shoulder stopped him. “You forget to whom you are speaking.” Signe’s voice was warm, almost a chuckle. “No light will touch us until we return.” 

The wind screamed in his ears like the howl of the Banshee inside of him, and in the blink of an eye and a burst of feathers in the air, the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the former capital city of the Horde surrounded them. 

Anduin wanted to stumble, wanted to feel nausea, but unlike a mage’s portal, he hadn’t felt anything of the journey. And so he walked, and felt Signe behind him, as they entered Grommash Hold. 

People turned in surprise to see the two of them, but then quickly turned their backs again, whispering to themselves. Anya was on the far side of the room, talking with some of the newest Dark Rangers, Night Elves that had been turned during the course of the war. 

“You will feel anger. You will feel that sadness and hatred,” Anya was explaining, the snippet of conversation as Anduin approached. “These are natural, but they are not unsurmountable. You still have companions in death as you did in life. And with the way that things are going on the other side of the world, I believe that the living will be preparing to welcome you back very soon.” 

“Could be as soon as today, if I ever get back in time,” Anduin joked from behind her, and Anya nearly jumped. She turned and hissed at him like an angry cat, clearly not used to being startled, and very angry for it. “Easy! Easy, I’m not here to-” 

“My King,” Anya smiled thinly, tight-lipped, though she trembled with barely-contained embarrassment, frustration, and - amusement? “How may I help you?” 

The other Dark Rangers had scattered, leaving the three of them alone in the darkened alcove. Anduin smiled kindly at her, as kindly as he could. “Peace, I’m not angry with you. At least, I don’t think I am. I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to let the anger go.” 

“Being raised the way you were, I don’t think you’ll ever be fully purged of that anger, but I admire you for trying.” Anya seemed to be calming down. “I’ll ask again - is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yes, actually.” Anduin cleared his throat, taking a breath. “Did you - were you the one who killed me?” 

“Yes.” Anya replied without hesitation. “It was disguised as a kidnapping gone wrong. Only Lady Sylvanas and I knew the truth. She told me beforehand that she had always planned on killing you, and making it seem like an accident.” Here, she paused. “I must admit, it was...difficult. More difficult than I had expected. When I saw your face, I should have felt the same cold anger and determination I always have. But you were so kind to me. You wouldn’t remember your final moments, but you tried to comfort me, tried to have a conversation with me. You didn’t die instantly, and my blade got stuck in your chest, preventing you from bleeding out quickly. You...you told me, that you forgave me.” Her voice was hollow, her shoulders lowered, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Would that you told me you hated me. Would that you had the impotent fury and rage of a dying man. Instead, you gave me a moment of tenderness that I did not deserve, and I...I was weak.” 

Anduin’s head was swimming, and he put an arm out to steady himself, but missed the wall and fell. Anya and Signe grabbed him, holding him upright, and somehow it became an embrace, with Anduin clinging to both of them tightly, but mostly to the smaller Dark Ranger in front of him. 

“Tears are not weakness,” he whispered, the foggy memory of the sound of weeping echoing ever so faintly in his ears. “I still don’t hate you. I’m sorry that you had to do that.” 

Her response was muffled by where they had crushed her face against his coat, but she poked her little face out and repeated herself. “Dark Rangers do not cry. Dark Rangers are made of fire.” 

Anduin laughed softly, squeezing her until she wheezed. “Dark Rangers are no different from anyone else. Just more skilful with a bow. Come back to Stormwind with me. We’re about to announce a week’s worth of celebrations for the true joining of all races on Azeroth.” 

Anya pulled a face. “I hate parties,” she grumbled, but made no move to let go of him. “If you shove cake in my face, I cannot promise I won’t stab you again.” 

“I won’t do that. Nathanos might,” he chuckled. “He’s gotten much more...fun, lately.” 

The Dark Ranger peered up him, eyes narrowed, focused. 

“What?”

“I told him once that the Dark Lady loved him, and he admonished me for it. You carried Sylvanas for a time. Speak on my behalf, and tell him that she loved him.” 

“Oh, I think it’s a little too late for that.” Anduin felt his cheeks heat up, and Anya looked confused for a moment. Then she started to laugh. 

“When we get to Stormwind,” she was smiling, and that was a weird look on a Dark Ranger, but Anduin’s heart was warmed by the sight of it, “I’m going to smash cake in  _ his  _ face.” 


	12. Chapter 12

Signe brought them back in another flash of wings and wind, and Anduin and Anya were so deep in conversation that they didn’t even notice Genn was standing across from them, his arms crossed, looking so much like an angry wolf that the young king felt like cowering when he finally spotted him.

“And where have _you_ been all night, we’ve been looking _all_ over, the Slayer has been worried sick about you, she hasn’t shut up in the last three hours-”

“Peace, Genn, I’ve been safe. I’ve been following up on my own history,” Anduin raised his hands, and though the old king didn’t uncross his arms, he lowered his shoulders and looked a little less murderous. “I had some questions that I needed answering. Tell me, have you seen Nathanos?”

Genn bristled again. “No. But we have no time for that. You need to wash and dress in your formal robes, you have your speech in less than an hour! _Nothing is allowed to go wrong today, do you hear me, young man?_ ”

“Loud and clear!” Anduin saluted him playfully, and Genn roared at him, lunging forward, but Anya darted one way, and Signe darted the other, and Anduin leapt gracefully over him, and the three of them laughed at the rageful cursing behind them as they sprinted up the hallway. Anduin felt giddy like a child, and ran all the way back to his chambers.

“Go wash, you smelly boy.” Anya was pushing him through the main doors of his chambers. “Unless you want our help?”

“Pah, am I a doll to be dressed, his hair brushed, and make-up put on his face?”

“Certainly, you do not fear death at the hands of King Greymane!”

Neither Nathanos nor Kor’vas were there, but he could spot the sun’s rays turning the horizon pink through his windows, and quickly headed for his baths. There, he scrubbed until his skin squeaked, pale as ever but feeling fresher than before. Anduin dried himself off, dressed himself in his formal clothes and ceremonial armour, and went to find the others.

Most of them were waiting down in the main throne room. Genn was there, of course, and Mia, and Kor’vas and Kayn, and Anya and Signe, and Velen and Saurfang and Baine, and Broll and Valeera, and Tyrande and Malfurion, and Moira and Magni, and Alleria and Turalyon, and Lor’themar Theron and Thalyssra, and Gallywix was there, and Mekkatorque, and Faol and Calia, and Khadgar, and Jaina and Katherine and Tandred and Derek, and Talanji and Rokhan, and, and…

The sea of faces turned to him as one, some smiling, some laughing, some in the middle of conversation, but all, as one, happy. Happy to see him, happy to greet this new day together, all together, at the end of all their treaties and hard work.

Anduin wobbled but managed to remain standing as he floated down the last few stairs and stood on the floor. The crowd came to him, but parted, and he walked through them, greeting everyone, the faces he knew, the ones he loved, the ones who had only recently become his friends, and everyone was so glad to see him. It wasn’t a dream, it was real; impulsively, he reached out and touched the face of the nearest person with his hand, almost to reaffirm this.

Saurfang chuckled, patting the back of Anduin’s young hand with fatherly affection. “Never lose faith in what you have, young one, and do not be afraid to put your faith in what you have become, for you have made us all so proud of you.”

Anduin shivered, taking in a shuddering breath, but it was too late. Tears ran down his face, burning behind his cheeks, and the old Orc slid both his hands up to Anduin’s hair and pulled him in, resting his forehead on top of the white-blond head, shining and well-prepared for his public appearance. “I could not have done this, could not have made it, without you.”

“Today,” Saurfang whispered, so that only Anduin could hear him, even amongst the throng of people waiting in his throne room, “you will make me proud to call you my son.”

Anduin wept.

Many hands touched him, eased him back, helped him through the endless throne room and out onto the steps, where it seemed the whole city, and the whole world, was waiting for him. He could barely see the stone walls of the Keep, so many had gathered. There were people on rooftops, on flying mounts, of all races and species, and was that a cluster of dragons on a nearby mountainside?

Anduin took a breath, and then began his speech.

“This is our world. There are many of us who have lived to defend it. There are many of us who have died to defend it. There are even those of us who have lived and died and lived again, in defense of its land, its life, and its people. Today, I stand before you, not only as your King, but as your friend, as your brother, as your son. Today, we are all family together, the children of Azeroth.

“This is our world. It has ached for us and bled for us, and today is only possible by the hands of many, the hearts of many, of our coming together to heal our broken world and our broken lives. This world continues to carry us as we stand together, will continue to hold all our hope and our promises as we rebuild our societies and our new life. Today is the first breath of a song that we will all sing together, in all our harmonies.

“This is our world. Let it be known throughout all worlds and all time that we, the citizens of Azeroth, have joined as one in celebration and in reflection, that this day is the beginning of many where we break bread together, where we raise our glasses together, where we till the fields and sail the seas and chart the stars together.

“This is our world. No more will we let our differences divide us, our hatred consume us, no more will we let our pasts decide our futures. Instead we will build our futures together, intertwined, so deep and so determined that no power can ever break us apart ever again. Today we make a promise to ourselves and to each other that we will live as one people, as one family, as one world. We will stand together against whatever may come, whatever future may lie in store for us.

“This is our world. We will go out together, defend each other, and learn from one another. We will celebrate our heritage and teach our children our traditions and let them see what is possible when we act with our hearts. We will mend old wounds and tell the old stories and laugh together under the stars. We will gather around the same fires and share in the harvest and the joy of every day, of every season. We will live out our years together and see each new dawn together.

“This is our world. Today is the day we will live without fear, without pain, without suffering and sorrow. We will heal together as we heal our planet, as we heal our broken hearts. Today is the day all promises are kept. Today is the day we throw open our doors and welcome in our neighbours and friends and strangers. Today is the day where we clasp hands together, where we embrace, where we kiss, where we dance together.

“This is our world.” Anduin took his breath, spreading his arms wide. “This is our world. Welcome.”

The crowds _erupted_. Trumpets blew, confetti and streamers and fireworks and fire and water and magic burst above their heads, cheering and laughing and bustle as the ceremony ended and the party officially began.

From that moment, Anduin’s feet hardly touched the ground. The whole of Stormwind was open, doors wide or even some removed off their hinges entirely as shops and homes and taverns welcomed guests and party-goers. He was talking to everyone, anyone who asked him, all over the city, adults and children alike. He forgot for a while, that he was what he was, not entirely alive and not entirely dead, and knelt quietly for a tiny Zandalari girl to crown him with delicate blossoms.

The day continued to sweep by. There was so much happening that he completely lost track of time and it was only after he realized the sky was dark that Anduin realized the sun had set. True to his word, Gallywix had prepared the most spectacular fireworks display they’d ever seen, and as Anduin stood on the Keep’s ramparts with people passing by, he stopped to admire the goblin handiwork.

So engrossed was he, that he didn’t even notice someone had stopped beside him until he felt the weight of a hand drop on his head.

It was Nathanos.

Wordlessly, Anduin sank into his side, grateful and content. The hand on his head ruffled his hair a moment, then slid down his arm and wrapped around his waist, artfully pulling the young king against the older man.

“I’m sorry I sent you away,” Anduin murmured, still watching the fireworks above their heads.

“I couldn’t stay away for long.” Nathanos replied, his voice a deep, reassuring rumble. “You’ll get into too much trouble if I’m not here to keep you in line.”

Anduin snickered, and Nathanos chuckled, and they both were laughing hard within seconds, relaxed and free.

“Tell me. Do you have anything more scheduled for the night?”

“Nothing formal.” Anduin watched a particularly large purple and red firework burst in the shape of the continent of Kalimdor. “I think Lady Thalyssra is hosting a midnight masquerade…”

“How delightful. I’m sorry that I’m going to make you miss such a thing.”

His breath caught in his throat, a stab of heat curling in his belly. “Oh really? You’ll have to make it up to me. Perhaps we can go tomorrow night.”

“Oh, you’ll be busy tomorrow night as well.”

“The night after?”

“I’m not going to let you out of your bed for a good, long time,” Nathanos was growling by this point, low in Anduin’s ear, his hands none too careful about where they slipped and groped him under his tunic.

“We, we should go inside then,” Anduin was gasping, making no effort to move at all, riding high on the thrill of getting felt up in public, even though no one was looking at them, as he spread his legs a little wider and felt Nathanos’ broad palm cupping his rapidly-hardening cock through his pants.

“If you think I’m going to stop touching you, you’re mistaken,” Nathanos purred, nibbling the young King’s ear, one hand under his tunic in the front, massaging his cock and balls, the other up his back and prising off the rear of his pants.

Anduin meant to say something, he really did, but all he could do was tilt his head back on Nathanos’ shoulder, biting his lip to keep from whimpering as he felt those thick fingers working his body so skillfully. The hand on his lower back rubbed lower and lower, spreading his cheeks open and prodding deliciously dangerously at his hole, making him shiver and shake.

“I would take you right here, over the side of the wall,” Nathanos was humping at his hip, and Anduin could feel that massive bulge; he fumbled for it, grabbing at it. Nathanos hissed. It was heavy, so heavy in his palm, the weight of it making his head spin. “I would take you and fuck you in front of everyone, in front of them all, and have them all know that you’re _mine_.”

“Ohplease. Pleasepleaseplease.” Anduin whined, arching back, pleading, rubbing himself against Nathanos’ hand. “PleaseIwantit _pleeease_ …”

Nathanos’ laughter was shaky, betraying how much he was turned on as well as Anduin. “Next time I’ll bring the proper supplies for that. But for now,” he finally stepped away, grabbing the young king by his hand, “make your damnable feet _walk_.”

They somehow stumbled back to his chambers together, and Anduin had barely locked the doors when Nathanos set upon him, kissing him over and over until he was senseless, their clothes coming off in ripped shreds and dirty, whispered promises of every filthy slick dream he’d ever had, Nathanos with his hand wrapped around Anduin’s cock and tugging him forward to the bed like a leash, right on the edge between pain and delirious pleasure.

The supplies Nathanos had hinted at were here, clearly, because those thick fingers had found his hole again and as he knelt over the other man on the bed, Anduin cried out when one finally breached him. His thighs trembled, and his hands gripped the headboard so hard the wood creaked as he felt that slick mouth licking and kissing and sucking his balls. It hurt to be penetrated like that, but only for a moment, before he was squirming and kicking at the bed for more. A second finger joined the first, pushing deeper and probing inside him, then a third, stretching him so wide Anduin felt part of his brain go numb. He was drooling like an idiot when Nathanos came up to kiss him, sloppy and wet and _hungry._

“My good boy,” Nathanos purred as Anduin gasped, finger-fucking him with urgency, “my precious boy, so good for me, just for me.”

“Only for you,” Anduin managed, hands like claws on Nathanos’ chest, on his shoulders and back, unsure of where to land, where to hold, jerky and twitchy with pleasure. “Please, yes, good boy, want to be your good boy-”

“Keep still,” Nathanos growled at him, as he withdrew his fingers. Anduin whined and Nathanos shushed him with more kisses, full of teeth and tongue. Hands on his back and side guided him down, then one disappeared. The other smoothed up and down his side, and he felt more pushing at his now wet and stretched entrance. _Oh,_ this. Anduin kept as still as he could as he felt Nathanos push inside him, that fat monster filling him up, all the weight he’d held in his hand earlier spreading him wide open, seeing stars of unbelievable pleasure.

“Oh _yesss_ it, that, oh please, pleaseplease, ye-” Anduin was babbling, gasping, as he felt Nathanos push his hips down, until he was completely impaled, kneeling and sitting on the older man’s cock deep inside him. He was shuddering, clenching around that thick cock, aching for more.

“Move your hips,” Nathanos ground out, and Anduin jerked back to life. He didn’t want to move a lot, because that cock was rubbing against him, stirring so many good feelings inside his body, but he wanted to be a good boy, and he moved slowly at first, then sped up, until he was bouncing wildly on Nathanos, riding him hard and fast, eyes rolling back in his head and tongue out as he panted.

Nathanos’ hands were gripping his hips, slamming him up and down, and Anduin needed more, needed it on his cock, so with some effort, dragged his hands off Nathanos’ shoulders and back and grasped his own stiff, leaking cock, palming it and jerking rapidly. He groaned; he was so close, he just needed to, needed to jack off, could already feel it, could imagine how it would feel to come while wrapped around such a thick, heavy cock inside him-

Anduin was pulled forward as Nathanos sat up more, pressing their foreheads together, one of his massive palms wrapping around the back of Anduin’s head, bringing them close. It wasn’t as fast now, more grinding instead of riding, the ranger’s growls mixing with the King’s gasping cries. Just a little more, just like that, and-

He was coming with white-hot bursts of pleasure, waves of it, ripping from deep inside him, his whole body pulsing, feeling it spurt from his cock as he jerked helplessly, and then the hot rush of cum deep inside him as Nathanos bit his shoulder and came, both of them sinking into a sticky, sweaty mess against the pillows and blankets.

When he could move again, Anduin curled up all around Nathanos, on his side and an arm and a leg over him, like a barnacle on the side of a boat, and the older man put an arm around him, and Anduin closed his eyes and smiled. He was exhausted in the best way possible, and from outside his window he could still vaguely hear the sounds of fireworks and festivities. He knew things would be going on for a week, plenty of time to get to know everyone who had come to join them.

Plenty of time…

But for now, he was content in the moment he was in, there, in his chambers, in his bed, there.

There with Nathanos, with that strong arm around him, letting himself doze off.

It was good.


End file.
